


Cursed

by missnoona



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fantasy, Folklore, Goblins, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25567615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missnoona/pseuds/missnoona
Summary: Your grandfather always warned you that the family was cursed by Dokkaebi, something you never took seriously until tragedy brought you face to face with one. Now you’re trying to reconcile what you believe to be true with what the strange and handsome creature says he is.
Relationships: Lee Minhyuk (Monsta X)/You
Kudos: 9





	Cursed

The crackling of burning wood echoed into the sky above you, the wispy orange embers fading into the stars. The shadows of the flames danced across your grandfather’s face, the man who raised you all on his own.

He was regaling you with stories, as he had done your entire life. You didn’t mind that you were too old for fairytales, you just liked the comfort that came with his voice.

“Some say they’re just mischievous, but I don’t believe that,” He said with narrowed eyes, “All the ones I know of are pure evil.”

“Goblins aren’t real, granddad.” You laughed, shaking your head. They weren’t fairytales to him, every creature he spoke of was very real, and he hated the Dokkaebi most of all. He was convinced that every ill-fated thing that had happened to your family and village as a whole were thanks to them, hiding in plain sight.

It was true there had been numerous incidences and tragedies surrounding you most of your life, and at times you were almost just as convinced it had to be something other-worldly, but logic prevented you from accepting the stories as truth.

“You laugh now, but one day they’re going to show their true faces around here, and you’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me.”

He wagged a disapproving finger as he spoke, and you recalled all the prepping and ritual that had taken hold of his life and in turn, affected yours, too. Most of it was like habit now, second nature, and you had to admit you had grown a bit too superstition to stop, even though a voice in your head told you you were being silly.

He raised a closed fist to his mouth and coughed, and you winced at the sound his lungs produced.

“You’re still not feeling well?” You asked, and he shook his head vigorously.

“It’s just this dry weather, that’s all.”

He was in denial about his failing health. He was getting older, you could see it in the lines in his face and how his gait slowed. Now he had this awful coughing that had been going on for months, and all you could do was tsk at him and send him to bed with some tea. He was too stubborn to see a doctor, he didn’t think the trip out of your village was worth the trouble. 

You stood from your place next to the fire. “Come on inside, I’ll make you a cup.”

“I’m not done with my story!” He protested childishly.

“I’ve heard all your stories, granddad.” You smiled as you waved him inside as you began to walk toward the back door. 

You never thought that would be the last time you saw him.

He passed peacefully in his sleep, you knew something was wrong when he wasn’t up bright and early as he often was. 

After that, everything that followed happened in a foggy haze. Trudging into town to inform someone about his passing, body preparation, the funeral, the rituals, the condolences of far off family and friends nearby. You hadn’t cried and you hadn’t spoken much, it didn’t feel real. You were alone now.

Every night you sat by yourself at the fire, and repeated his stories in your head. It was natural, he was an old man, it would have to happen sometime, but you weren’t anywhere near prepared. Would you ever be? You weren’t sure. You just knew you didn’t know how to till this land and run this home on your own. You didn’t know who you were going to talk to, laugh with, take care of. You didn’t know who would dry your tears, pat your head in approval, or tell you that you could do anything you set your mind to.

Suddenly your grandfather’s stories of the Dokkaebi didn’t seem too far fetched. He hadn’t been keeping up with his rituals lately due to his health and had encouraged you to do them for him, but you brushed them off. You might set out an amulet for protection or burn some incense, but the longer, more complicated rituals seemed like a waste of your time. Until now, of course.

Everyone in your family had been taken from you, and while part of you urged you to think of this rationally, that life simply wasn’t fair, you couldn’t accept that. You couldn’t just sit and take it, let this tragedy and sadness happen to you over and over again with no reason.

You spent days gathering materials, traversing the woods in search of the right herbs and stones for what you were about to do. Sometimes you thought yourself crazy, driven by grief, other times you convinced yourself this was the best thing to do.

Driving away a Dokkaebi was complicated, and difficult to accomplish. If there was one (or many) nearby, haunting your family and bringing ill will upon your land, it could be forced to leave you and generations of your family alone if you did it right.

Once you had everything you thought you would need, everything you could remember your grandfather telling you and everything you could gather from his diaries, you picked a night to begin. 

Candles scattered about the garden, with the bonfire roaring at the center. In front of it a table was lined with fruit and incense, and you made as much noise as you could, banging metal together as you walked the corners of your property, hoping to drive the evil away.

It went on for hours, alternating meditation and prayer with your noise making. You were hot, sweat dripping from your temples, and you were exhausted, but you were propelled. Finally, as the sun barely began to peak from the horizon, you fell into hysterical tears, crying for the first time since he died.

Kneeling on the ground with your head in your hands sobbing, you didn’t hear the rustle of clothing or the small steps toward you, or how the figure lingered over you for some time before you finally picked up your head. Seeing the figure there, half cast in shadow as the morning sun had not reached the garden just yet, you gasped and fell back.

With a tear streaked face, you peered up at the figure through blurred vision. It was a man, dressed in traditional clothing with dark hair and dark eyes, and his handsome face struck you as odd and frightening given the circumstances. You might have thought he was just a villager, brought to the garden by all your commotion, but there were sparks of blue light that radiated off the edges of his frame that told you he wasn’t even human.

“I-it…it’s you.” You trembled as you spoke. He didn’t look anything like the ogre-ish creatures from your grandfather’s stories.

He crouched so he was at eye level with you and you scurried back. He half-smiled in a devious yet amused way.

“Who am I?” He asked.

“T-the Dokkaebi”

He laughed, and the way his smile lit up his face was complicating your feelings. There was something sweet about his eyes and his voice.

“I would think so, you’re the one that summoned me here.”

“What?” You asked, then shook your head. “No, I was trying to drive you away.”

“Well now, why would you do such a mean thing?” He asked with a pout.

This was too much to take in at once. You were mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted and it was hard to form a coherent sentence, to explain the entire situation. Plus, you had just had all of your childhood fairytales proven real right before your eyes.

“You’ve been bringing destruction to my family, I want you to leave.” You sniffed, trying to sound firm, but you were meek and small underneath him, still shaking and half-crying.

He cocked his head, “You’re sure that was me?”

“Who else would it be? Are there more of you?”

“Of course there are.” He stood up once more. “But none of them are in this village. Never have been, actually.”

“That’s impossible.” You near-whispered.

He shrugged, “You don’t have to believe me, but it’s the truth. Whatever ill fate has bestowed your family has nothing to do with me or my brethren.”

You felt sick to your stomach, not wanting to believe what you were hearing. How could everything your grandfather spoke of be true and false all at the same time? How could all your misfortune be random?

You pulled yourself shakily to your feet, and glared hard at the goblin.

“I want you gone by today.”

He simply grinned at you, and you turned to extinguish the flames of the candles and stoke out the fire. He simply watched, and you tried to move without fear, though deep down you were terrified of what he was capable of. 

You went inside and collapsed onto your bed, no time to clean the dirt and tears from your face or remove your clothes, thick with smoke smell. When you awoke hours later, your body ached and the sun was beating down on you from the window. You didn’t have the energy to heat up your water, so you dumped the basins you already had over your head, cold and shocking to your skin, but you felt refreshed.

Once you had changed into clean clothing and had something to eat, you peered out of your back window into your garden, a mess from disrepair and the remnants of your ritual. As your eyes scanned the fields, your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw him.

The goblin waltzed around your cabbage patch, looking a lot more human in the daylight. He didn’t seem out of place, touching the leaves absent-mindedly as he strolled. He seemed so non-threatening, but you knew better.

You marched out of your home and down the garden path toward him, and when he saw you coming he smiled.

“Good afternoon, did you sleep well?”

“Why are you still here?” You planted your hands on your hips and glared.

“You summoned me, remember?”

“I told you to leave.”

“Oh, it doesn’t work like that.” 

You stood up straight and blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I guess you’ve never done a banishing ritual before, because you did it wrong, or maybe it was because there was nothing to banish?” He stopped a moment to think to himself 

“Nevertheless, what you did was a ritual to appeal to me, so I would come here and help you.” He explained, then looked out at your land. “Your crops are decent, but they could be better.”

“I don’t need your help.” You spat, the vitriol dripping from your tone. You refused to believe this creature, he was probably as cunning as your grandfather always told you they were.

“That’s a problem.” He said, unphased by your anger. “I can’t leave until my job is done.”

You felt tension sear through your already aching muscles, getting more and more upset as the goblin spoke. “Listen, I don’t care about what you think you have to do, all I know is that I don’t want to see you anywhere near my land, you got that?”

“Wrong again,” He almost laughed, “I actually can’t even leave the property, even if I wanted to.”

You sighed heavily and raised your fingers to rub your temples, what had you gotten yourself into?

“I really don’t understand why you’re so mad at me, especially since you’re the one that brought me here and all.” He shrugged, there was a hint of naivety to him that angered you, acting innocent when you knew what he really was.

“I’ve heard all the stories, I know all about your kind and what you’re capable of, so if you think I’m going to trust you to help me, you’re dead wrong.”

“That isn’t fair.” He said, his pout returning. “I think you’ve been misinformed about us,”

“My grandfather wouldn’t lie.” You said, voice deepening, daring the goblin to defy you.

“I wouldn’t doubt your elder,” He agreed, then pondered a moment before continuing, “But maybe he was misinformed, too? Did he actually ever meet one of us?”

Suddenly your thoughts went reeling through all his stories, scouring over the details for some kind of proof, when it dawned on you he had never claimed to have seen them in person. All his stories were second-hand, passed down from ancestors, and only strange coincidences had ever happened in his own life. You felt weak suddenly, questioning everything you knew about your grandfather and your family as a whole. Maybe they were just stories? Rumors and blame for life’s very normal tragedies. 

You didn’t have an answer or an argument for him, so you locked eyes for a brief moment, curiosity and a hint of concern on his face, before you turned and walked back to the house without another word.

You fell back into bed and the tears came like a flood, free-flowing and constant. Your grief now mixed with regret and betrayal. It was silly to blame the old man, he had his convictions, but so much of your life had been put into this thing that wasn’t even true. Now you were stuck with a monster of your own making, plus a very real supernatural creature frolicking through your garden. You were lost. You pulled the blankets up over yourself and cried yourself to sleep.


End file.
